Savior
by Reiko Itoshii
Summary: After the death of a close family friend, Toby Ziegler finds himself with custody of their 14 year old daughter. CJ tries to help. Welcome to the Rachelverse. CHAPTER EIGHT: Rachel and Toby reflect on a clear night. *COMPLETE*
1. Chapter One

Ginger opened the door to the office, not bothering to knock, and thrust the phone at Toby. "Telephone for you."  
  
"Who?" Toby asked, accepting the phone. Ginger shrugged, and departed, calling back over her shoulder. "I don't know, some guy. He said it was important." Placing the earpiece, Toby tried not to sound bored.   
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Mr. Toby Ziegler?" The voice on the other end was male, nasal, and a bit muffled. No one Toby knew.   
  
"Yeah, that's me. Hey, whatever it is, I'm not buying." Telephone solicitors, he thought, irritated. There should be a law. "Take my number off your list."  
  
"I'm not trying to sell you something, Mr. Ziegler," the voice insisted, sounding a bit surprised. "I'm calling about Mr. and Mrs. Birnes." There was a pause.  
  
"Yeah?" Toby prompted. "What about the Birnes?" Something in that pause boded trouble. "What's happened?"  
  
He could hear a breath being taken, and then blown out, as the speaker let another moment slide by. "I'm sorry, sir," he finally said. "There's been an accident."  
  
*************  
  
It was a long time before Toby opened his door again. When he did, his step was slower, and his face was bleak.  
  
"Ginger!" Toby's bellow carried out of the office, and down the hall.  
  
"Toby?" Ginger answered, sticking her head in. Toby pulled on his coat, shuffling around in the pockets for something. He knocked something off the desk in his haste, and didn't bother to fix it again, evoking a quizzical look from his secretary.  
  
"I'm leaving early. If something has to be done, it'll wait." Switching off the light, he exited the office, herding Ginger out and closing the door behind him.  
  
"What? But you've got a meeting with-!"  
  
"Not anymore." He started down the hallway, his feet pounding along the floor, so that Ginger had to jog to keep up with him.   
  
"He isn't going to like that very much. You can't just-!" Ginger sounded slightly panicked. Toby shook his head angrily, and picked up the pace.   
  
"Yes I can. I'm going home. Take care of it. Goodnight."   
  
Stopping, Ginger watched him leave the building, a puzzled and worried expression on her face. A few seconds later, Josh came up behind her, tapping her on the shoulder.  
  
"Hey, is Toby available?" He asked, jerking his head towards the now closed office door. Ginger shook her head, biting her lip.  
  
"Ah...no. No, I don't think so. Is it important?"  
  
************  
  
Storming through the parking lot, Toby ignored the odd looks from those around him as he headed for the car. He would remain calm, he told himself, even as he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. He would remain collected, and composed, at least until he'd left the building.   
  
"Toby!" CJ came running up behind him, breathing heavily. She clutched at his arm, forcing him to stop. "Toby, what the hell is going on? Ginger told me you stormed out in a fit. She's pretty worried."   
  
Taking a deep breath, Toby skewed around to look at CJ. Her brow was furrowed and her lip was bitten, in an almost comical display of concern. He sighed, shook his head, and jerked away, heading towards the car. "A friend of mine just passed away," he called back in way of explanation. "A very close friend."  
  
CJ broke into a jog again, apparently determined to detain him. Why, he wondered, couldn't he just leave the building for a while, without the whole place coming after him? This was ridiculous. "Toby, I'm sorry," CJ was saying. "I'm sorry to hear that."  
  
"Yeah," he muttered back, "Me too." Damnit, he needed to get home, now. "Anyway, I have to go."  
  
"Wait!" CJ was horribly persistent. "I said, I'm sorry to hear that, but...you've got to stay here. I mean, there's nothing you can do for them, now, and we need you here...Josh has been looking all over for you, I don't know why, and Ginger's ballistic, because she's scheduled seven or eight meetings that you've just blown off. Get a grip, Toby." She squeezed his shoulder sympathetically.  
  
"No, I can't." Toby insisted, though he didn't tell CJ to remove her hand. "I really can't."  
  
"Why not?" Asked CJ, yet again the voice of reason. Toby sighed.  
  
"Because their daughter...my god-daughter...she's still alive. And for some reason, I'm supposed to have custody of her now. And I need to fix this."   
  
CJ stopped jogging. "Oh," she murmured. "Yes, that might be a problem." But before he could escape, she was on him again. "Wait, doesn't she have any relatives?"   
  
Toby shrugged resignedly. "I guess not. Her grandparents are all long gone, I know that. I think Jack...my friend...I think he has a brother. Haven't heard much about him lately, I don't think they get along well. Got along well," He corrected himself, a bit thrown off by his slip. "Apparently my number was the one under 'person you should call in an emergency.'" He was a bit bitter about that. If he hadn't known about this until the end of the day, maybe it would have been easier. He could have grieved in the comfort of his home, instead of on the pavement, with CJ badgering him and pounding on his heels. "May I go, now? Or have you something else, some other question that needs answering?"  
  
Something in his voice must have cued her, because CJ finally did relent, and stopped, letting him get into his car. "Poor kid," he heard her murmur as he shut the door. "Both of them in one night."  
  
What about poor me? Toby thought. But that was stupid, he realized. Pulling away, he watched CJ dwindle into the distance. It could only go downhill from here, he realized unhappily. Why him? 


	2. Chapter Two

It was raining by the time Toby pulled into his driveway. The police were already there, standing huddled up next to door. Rushing forward to meet them, Toby snagged his umbrella on the sliding car door, cursing violently as he yanked it off. As he hurried up the walkway, he saw that there were two policemen, and one small, very wet figure between them, shivering. One of them had given her his jacket, but she still looked very cold. Her short brown hair was all plastered down around her face, and she had her head bent over her crossed arms, so that he couldn't make out her expression. CJ's comment came back to him. Poor kid.  
  
"Hey," he called as he approached them. "It's nasty out here, come inside." Pushing the door open, he ushered the three of them into the house, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl's face. Her shoulders were heaving up and down, and she was emitting small, choked noises. She must be in pretty bad shock, he thought. Who could blame her?  
  
"Hi, Rachel," He managed, trying to sound normal. Rachel didn't look at him. "Um...do you all want something to eat? Like I said, it's...really quite nasty out there. Cold. Right." He wasn't making much coherent sense, he realized. Better to cut to the point. "So...?"  
  
"We haven't been able to get in touch with Vince Birne...he's not at home. In fact, according to those we've asked, he hasn't been at home for weeks." The taller policeman shrugged unhappily. "Which leaves you. Frankly, I'd feel safer leaving her with you, being as you're known, and all."   
  
Toby let out a long breath. "Wait, can I...can I talk to you two gentleman in the other room for a moment?" He glanced at Rachel, but she showed no signs of moving. In fact, she didn't even seem to be listening to the conversation. Did it matter to her where they put her? Had they taken that into consideration? The policeman nodded and murmured, and Toby led them out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him. "Hey," he said, once safely out of earshot, "I can't...it's not that I don't see the problem, but I'm not...not currently capable of taking in a fourteen year old girl. I work in the White House. I work full time in the White House. Sometimes I don't come home. I'm divorced, I'm irritable, and I'm just not equipped for this. I don't think you really understand, I can't," and he stressed that last word heavily, "take care of her. I'm really sorry. But..." He trailed off, glancing from face to face. The policeman both looked puzzled.  
  
"Sir...you're the one the parents specified. There...there jus isn't anyone else, right now. We could get her a foster home, but that would take a bit of time, and..."  
  
Toby sighed, yet again. "Ok, ok, I get it." He stood for a moment, hands shoved into his pockets, thinking. This wasn't a good idea, he knew. But he couldn't just put her out for adoption, and foster homes so often didn't work out. And it was raining. And she was scared, and horrified, and cold. "Yeah," he muttered slowly, "Yeah. I'm giving you one month, ok? One month to find this Vince guy, or somebody, some relative, some friend, somebody. One month. You got that?"  
  
The policemen looked immensely relieved. Toby shook their hands, and escorted them to the door, after they'd paid a quick goodbye to Rachel, who still didn't respond. Then they left, and he was alone, with this girl who he didn't even know that well, and his grief, and a very quiet kitchen.  
  
"So, Rachel..." He couldn't figure out anything to say to her. He couldn't say he was sorry about her parents, because that would only make it worse for her, right now. He couldn't just leave her in the kitchen alone, and nothing he said, or did, could really help her right now. He knew about that, he knew about grief, and about loss, and about death. This was probably her first big contact with it, so close to home. Except, she'd known her grandfather, hadn't she? But that was different.   
  
"So, Rachel," he tried again, more firmly, "You're all wet. Let's get you dried off." Stepping into the bathroom, he didn't bother turning on the light, searching with his hands along the walls for a towel. He pulled one off the rack, and came back, thrusting it at her. She raised her head, blinked, twice, and then slowly reached for it, tucking it around her shoulders.  
  
"...Thanks." She whispered, hunching up again. The tearstains on her face were quite evident now. "...Sorry."  
  
Again, there was nothing Toby could say to that. 'It's all right' wouldn't really cover it. In fact, it wasn't all right, it was all very wrong. He was the Director of Communications of the White House. He was running a campaign. She would not be happy here. He was not, in all honesty, happy to have her here.   
  
"It's all right," he said. His conscience ate away at his brain.   
  
Rachel shifted slightly in her chair, rubbing ineffectively at her now reddened and puffy eyes. Craning her neck, she glanced around the room, apparently taking in her surroundings for the first time. Toby watched, and waited. There was no change in expression on her face. "Where am I gonna have to go?" She sounded like she didn't really care, at this point.   
  
"You're going to stay here for a month or so," Toby told her, determined to sound light about it. "They're going to try and get in touch with your uncle soon, so that you can go there."   
  
She nodded, and ducked her head again, so that he couldn't see her reaction to that statement. Deciding to pretend he hadn't noticed, Toby continued. "I work all day...at the White House, you know."  
  
"Yeah," Rachel muttered, "I know."  
  
"Right." Of course she knew. This was stupid. "Anyway, I guess...you'll be home alone, most of the time." Rachel's head snapped up. "Or...I guess you could come to the office." Toby was really, really not sure about that. In fact, now that the words were out of his mouth, he regretted even posing the idea. "It's really boring, though," he went on.   
  
"I...I don't really want to stay by myself," the girl admitted, shrugging slightly. Toby nodded, slowly. He should have expected that. She'd just lost her parents. Being by herself most of the time would give her nothing to take her mind off of it. But what could a fourteen year old possibly do at the White House? Maybe he'd buy her a book or something, to keep her occupied.   
  
"Fine," he said, nodding. She looked up at him, and gave him the tiniest of smiles. Something in Toby's heart snapped. Damn, he thought. What am I getting myself into? 


	3. Chapter Three

There were several people who Toby was very sure would be furious with him, as he strode through the front door the next day. That wasn't unusual. He came early, so that he wouldn't get a lot of questions about Rachel, who trailed listlessly along behind him as he stalked the halls. She'd stopped crying somewhere in the middle of the night, and he'd finally been able to get to sleep. He'd set up the guest room for her, but her sobs were still audible through the walls. Now, she was quite dry eyed, but very somber, and very quiet. That was better, he supposed. The quiet part, anyway.   
  
Pulling a chair over near the desk, Toby gestured her towards it. "This is my office. This is where I need you to stay for a while." Rachel looked at him for a moment, then shrugged, and seated herself. He had remembered to take her to the bookstore, but she hadn't been all that interested. He wasn't even sure if she'd paid attention to what she'd bought. She was stuck with it, now, anyway, until the end of the day. And that was another thing. How was she to get home, if something came up, and he had to stay late? "If you get hungry or something, talk to Ginger. But I really need you to stay here."  
  
"...K." Rachel nodded. Obedience didn't seem to be a problem, thought Toby ruefully. Opening her book, Rachel leaned back in the chair, and gave a sort of short sigh. Toby stood for a few more seconds, unsure of whether or not it was safe or wise to leave her here. Then he shrugged. He had a life, he had a job, he would have to cope. And so would she. Leaving the office, he shut the door quietly behind him.  
  
**********  
  
Several hours later, Rachel was exceedingly bored. Her novel of choice, "To Kill a Mockingbird," by Harper Lee lay discarded on the office floor. It wasn't, she decided, that it was a bad book. The writing itself was rather nicely done. It just moved so slowly...it never actually got around to what it really wanted to say. And she'd be done with it in an hour or so, anyway. Where was Toby? At a meeting, she supposed. She'd heard him rampaging around outside, yelling about something. Funny, she thought, she'd never heard him yelling before. Of course, he did seem the type. And here she was, alone, after all.   
  
She fidgeted in her chair, and reached down to tie her shoelace. Was this really preferable to waiting by herself, back at home? Except, it wasn't home...not really. She swallowed hard, and shut her eyes tightly, determined not to cry again. No, that was finished. She would adjust. What else could she do, really? Mom and dad...would have chided her for being so...so...well, crybabish was the only word she could think of. And that wasn't really a word. Toby was a writer, maybe he could think of a better one. And why was she thinking about this? She couldn't let herself think about mom and dad. But she did, anyway.   
  
Sliding out of the chair, Rachel peered cautiously through the crack between the door and the wall. There was some activity nearby, but she didn't really care what they were doing. It was all boring political stuff, anyway. She'd never cared much about politics. After a month in the White House, she supposed, she might care a great deal more. But then, she wasn't going to see much of it, was she? No, she was stuck in this office, with only Harper Lee for company. And...oh, shit. She had to go to the bathroom. This couldn't be good.  
  
"Ginger?" She called softly, hopefully. No response. Afraid to raise her voice, for fear of attracting too much attention, Rachel slipped out of the door. Which one was Ginger? She wished Toby had taken a moment to point that out to her. "Ginger?" Oh god. This was just perfect. 'You've got to stay here,' Toby had said, quite clearly. And she really couldn't stay here, unless Toby wanted to sacrifice his rug. Well, there was nothing for it. Making sure not to be noticed, Rachel slid along the wall, away from the office, and down the hall.   
  
Only a few meters away from her semi-prison, Rachel was intercepted. Darn, she thought, glancing up at the tall woman in front of her. Foiled again.   
  
"Oh." The tall woman looked down at her, apparently mildly surprised. "Are you...Rachel?" Startled, Rachel nodded, slowly. The woman smiled. "I'm CJ Cregg. I'm the Press Secretary. Toby told me you were here. Actually, he said you were in his office, but..."  
  
"...I...I was looking for the bathroom," Rachel said in a rush. CJ chuckled. "Didn't Toby tell you where it was? No, I suppose he didn't. Here, I'll show you. But hurry up, I've got places to go."   
  
Smiling gratefully, Rachel followed CJ down the hall. "I'm sorry about your parents," CJ said, very gently, as they went. Rachel's smile vanished, and she clenched her fists at her side. The tears could not come. Could not...could not...damn it. Raising a hand, she wiped the collecting moisture from her eyes. CJ looked very contrite. "I shouldn't have said that, should I?" No, thought Rachel, you really shouldn't have.   
  
Instead, however, Rachel staunchly dashed away the tears, and stood straighter. "...s'allright," she managed. "...s'not your fault." And it wasn't, really. It was better for her to get it all out now, she supposed. But...not in front of the White House Press Secretary. In fact, maybe she should have stayed home. After a day of tears, she might be ready. But now, she was just stuck. Humiliated, sad, and stuck.   
  
They walked on a bit in silence. "If it's any consolation," CJ tried, "I know what it's like. I've...lost someone, too. Not too long ago." Yeah, Rachel thought, but I bet it wasn't your dad. And your mom. You all think you know what I've been through, but you don't really.   
  
"I'm sorry," Rachel said.  
  
"So am I," CJ replied, turning a sad sort of smile on the younger girl. Then she sighed. "But it doesn't help to dwell on it. It really doesn't. And I'm not making it any better. You need the bathroom. Come on."  
  
***********  
  
Back in the office, Rachel was quiet for a long time. Her encounter with CJ had given her a few things to think about. For one thing...and a deep breath was necessary here...she couldn't keep her mind off of the crash. The book was long finished under the chair. Toby was still nowhere to be found. She was still cooped up, and she had long ago stopped trying to keep from crying. There was a small wet patch on the desk, now, and she didn't much care. The desk would survive. She, on the other hand, would have a harder time.   
  
"Hey, Toby, where are...you?" A voice, quickly accompanied by a form, entered the office, catching Rachel off guard. "Um...whoa. Sorry." The man stopped in the entrance, staring at her. Rachel sighed.  
  
"Are you...that is, are you waiting for Toby Ziegler?" The man asked, looking confused.   
  
"...Yeah," Rachel said. "You could say that." 


	4. Chapter Four

When Toby finally did get back to his office, he found Rachel bundled up on the couch, using his coat for a blanket. She was fast asleep, with her head pillowed against her hands, and her knees scrunched up to her chest. There were tears in her eyes. Damn, thought Toby, sliding into his chair with a sigh. Well, I'm not quite done here, anyway. At least she stayed put. And it's good for her to get some rest, after last night...she'll have to be up for the funeral, tomorrow.  
  
A sense of foreboding came over Toby at the thought of bringing her to the funeral. He'd already cleared it with the staff...he could take a few hours off. But it wasn't going to pretty. Should he even let her go, he wondered? But of course he should. In fact, he didn't really have the right to 'let' her go or not. That wasn't his prerogative. They were her parents, after all, she couldn't just miss the funeral. That was a hard thing to take, but it was inevitable. 'Poor kid.' Yeah, CJ was right. But that didn't change anything.   
  
As Toby watched, Rachel rolled over on her side, and his coat slipped off, puddling into a heap onto the floor. He stood up, extracted himself from his desk, and crossed the room, bending down to pick it up and tuck it around her again.   
  
**********  
  
A van came the next day with Rachel's things. Toby helped pile the boxes in the back of the guest room.   
  
"She'll only need a few things, right? A few clothes, a toothbrush, etc. So we'll leave the rest back here until it needs to travel again." The movers looked confused about that, but Toby was adamant. They'd done their job, he said, so now, could they please leave. Thank you. And they did leave.  
  
Rachel poked through until she found her black skirt and blouse. "...wore it to Grandpa's," she explained, when Toby showed surprise over her having something so appropriate for the occasion. "I'm not sure if it still fits, though." She didn't say anything more after that, but went into the bathroom and tried it on. It did fit. This was immensely relieving to Toby, who had spent a sleepless night worrying about taking a teenager shopping.  
  
Toby let Rachel sit in the passenger seat. Technically, at five feet tall, she wasn't tall enough to sit in the front, but neither were some very respectable women who drove around the beltway every day. So he really couldn't complain. She sat very quietly, with hands folded in her lap, looking thoughtful, for the whole ride. After a while, Toby began to entertain hopes that she was, after all, going to be all right. Maybe she'd gotten over the worst of it. She certainly looked all right, albeit very, very quiet. And very still. Maybe she'd fallen asleep? No, she was still quite awake. This could be a good thing, right?  
  
They parked outside the church, and all through the walk up the steps, Rachel was silent. Then, halfway through the threshold, she stopped. Shaking her head back and forth, she turned around, and looked up at Toby. "I can't..." she murmured. "I don't want to remember them like...like that. Dead."   
  
Toby thought for a moment. He could well understand why she felt that way. But..."Do you really want to remember them the way they were after the crash?" He asked. Damn, that had been blunt. But she needed to be here. She'd feel better after this, she really would. She needed to say goodbye.   
  
"No," Rachel agreed, shaking her head, biting her lip, and raising her chin up. "No, I don't." Then she turned around, and strode into the room, with Toby close on her heels.   
  
She closed her eyes, though, for a long time. Toby decided not to look at her. He had to deal with his own grief, now, that he'd been saving, and bottling up. He remembered Jack and Sarah very, very well. He and Sarah had gone to college together. In fact, he'd been the one who indirectly caused Rachel's birth. Nothing drastic, of course, but he'd introduced them, and really watched over them, for a while. Especially after his own divorce.   
  
He remembered the last time he'd seen the two of them. It had been in a letter, actually, a photograph they'd sent him from the Bahamas. Where was that photograph now? Somewhere in his desk. He ought to go through and find it. Or maybe it was better left where it was, to look for when it was easier to see such things. Rachel would want to see it later, too. But how much later?  
  
He and Jack used to go drinking together sometimes. It seemed out, slightly surreal, that he'd never see him again. Toby supposed that it hadn't quite hit him yet, because he'd been so busy. But Rachel had already taken the full brunt of it. He glanced over at her, and saw that she was washing her hands together, hard, and that her lip was bleeding, as she clenched it in an effort to keep from crying. It was all right to cry, Toby thought. Only, not for him. He realized suddenly that he was slightly jealous of Rachel, stupid as that might seem. He was jealous of her youth, of her excuse for the anguish she so openly showed. No, Toby Ziegler could not do that. He must mourn in silence, for he was a grown man, and he did not weep, not for any reason.   
  
Somehow, that seemed unfair.  
  
***********  
  
After the service, Rachel needed a hand to hold. Unfortunately, it wasn't there. All these people standing around, in their stuffy, fancy clothes, seemed very foreign to her. She certainly couldn't turn to Toby, as he hadn't said three words to her in succession yet, other than 'please stay put.' And he wasn't exactly the warm and fuzzy type, either. No, she couldn't talk to him, and that was hard.   
  
In fact...Toby didn't even seem to care, and that was harder. He hadn't shed a tear since she'd seen him. Weren't they his close friends? Hadn't he loved them? He didn't act like it. He didn't even act like he cared about her, but that wasn't too strange. She'd never gotten to know her godfather that well, but Mom had always showered him with praises. So had Dad. What was so great about this emotionless guy, with his blank face, and mildly nervous manner? Oh, well, it was only for a month.   
  
And where would she go, after that month? Was there really anywhere? Or would she have to...to start over? Rachel didn't think she could do that. New parents, a new family, a whole new life...that just didn't seem fathomable right now. There just would never be another Sarah and Jack Birnes. They were her only parents. How could anyone expect her to find new ones, and really love them? Or did anyone care if she really loved them? She was just one girl, with no one. So really, they didn't care. Who was 'they,' actually? There wasn't a they. There was just her, and this...this guy. This guy, who she didn't know, and who didn't know her, and who she, at this moment, hated. She hated him because...well, she didn't really know why. She hated him because he was there. God, she missed Mom and Dad so much...   
  
Putting her head in her hands, Rachel let herself mourn.   
  
It just wasn't fair. 


	5. Chapter Five

Another day in the white house, and another long, irritating confinement in Toby's office, thought Rachel, drumming her fingers idly on the table. Somehow, this wasn't how she'd imagined her summer. She was supposed to have gone to overnight camp with Maria and Kat...but that didn't seem nearly as important now. She didn't have nearly as much motivation as she had. Kat and Maria seemed to have deserted her...wouldn't they have called? But then, they probably had called. She just wasn't home. Nor was anyone else. What a shock it would be to them, when they found out. And after that, no doubt the whole ninth grade would know. Then, maybe she'd get some calls. Maybe she'd break this monotony once the school year started again.  
  
"Hey." Toby poked his head in the door, pulling Rachel sharply out of her reverie. "You want to come watch a press conference?"   
  
"Um...ok." Normally, this opportunity wouldn't have been nearly as desirable, but now...anything was better than sitting around. "Where do I go?"  
  
Toby jerked his head towards the hallway. "I'll take you. Come on." Rachel rose and followed him out into the hall, past numerous offices and people looking very industrious. Idly, she wondered what it felt like to know that you were working, in whatever small way, for the government. It must be pretty cool, she thought, to know that you might change the world. But then, there didn't seem to be a lot of world-changing going on here. A lot of paperwork, though. Was this what it was really all about? She wished she'd paid more attention in Civics class. Not like she'd thought it would ever come in handy.  
  
"Wait here for a second. Don't go anywhere. Actually, don't move." Toby stopped her with a hand.   
  
"Hey, but-!" Rachel tried to walk forward, but Toby gently moved her backwards.  
  
"No. Stay here. No moving." Glancing around Rachel, didn't see anything unusual. There was another desk, and a door. Big door. Ok, so? Why were they stopping? Was this where they had the press conferences? Then why couldn't she go inside? Hadn't he invited her to this?   
  
"K." She stayed put, while Toby went forward, and nodded to the young-looking man behind the desk.   
  
"He's waiting for you," The man said, politely nodding back. Toby strode through the doors, and the man went back to his computer. Rachel waited. The keys on the keyboard clicked up and down. Then they stopped. Some more clicking. Another pause. The man looked up at his screen, seemingly puzzled. More clicking. The clicking, Rachel decided, was going to drive her mad. Actually, she might be mad already. Standing on tiptoes so that she could see the keyboard without moving, she noticed a small green light.  
  
"Numlock," she muttered. The man turned to look at her.  
  
"Excuse me?" He looked as if he hadn't noticed her before. Well, that was nothing new.  
  
"You're stuck in numlock," she said, waving a hand vaguely at the keyboard. "See?" Looking around, Rachel cautiously walked forward. Hah. She'd moved. So there. She pointed a finger at the blinking numlock key. "There."  
  
"Oh, yeah." The man looked startled, and then smiled hesitantly. "Thanks." Rachel shrugged, and went back to her spot. There was more clicking of keys. Why had she pointed that out to him? Maybe he'd have given up on the typing if he hadn't noticed that. No, she would have to sit and endure the incessant clicking. Stupid Rachel, stupid, stupid Rachel.  
  
"So...are you with Toby?" The man asked. With Toby? Well...maybe. Not for long, though.   
  
"Yeah," she muttered. "Sort of." That wasn't really a recommendation, she decided. "I'm Rachel Birnes."  
  
"Oh." He looked up at her, apparently recognizing the name. Then he shrugged. "Charlie Young."  
  
"Cool." Another long, click-filled pause. "So...what do you do, here?"  
  
Charlie blinked. "I'm sorry?"  
  
"What's your...title?" Rachel asked, feeling weird.   
  
"I'm the President's personal aid," Charlie replied, a hint of pride in his voice. Very cool, thought Rachel, perking up. She wasn't entirely sure what an aide did, but it sounded good.  
  
"And that's important, right?" She persisted. Quitting the keyboard, Charlie looked thoughtful.  
  
"I don't know," he said, finally. "You'd have to ask him."  
  
Rachel blinked. "Who?"  
  
"The President." Charlie inclined his head towards the doors, making Rachel turn to look. There was Toby, looking irritated, walking out of the office with-  
  
* * * * * * * * *   
  
"It's over, Toby, that's it. That's all I'm gonna say. They can take it an shove it up their asses." Josiah Bartlet commented as they pushed open the doors.   
  
"You can't say that to them, sir." Toby insisted.  
  
"Can't say what? Shove it up their ass? Toby, I can say whatever I want to. I'm the President. I have the big guns." Bartlet seemed to think he was being infinitely reasonable.  
  
"Mr. President?"   
  
"I can't say that. Right." With a sigh, Bartlet threw up his hands in defeat. "Ok, so what am I doing again? You know, when I signed up for this, I could have sworn I'd have some of the decision-making power."   
  
"I'm sorry, sir?"   
  
It was at that point that Toby noticed Rachel, who, to her credit, did not appear to have moved from the spot she'd been in when he'd left her. In fact, she wasn't moving at all, but standing perfectly stock-still, with her mouth hanging open, and her eyes bugged halfway out of her head. "Mr. President, I told you about Rachel, didn't I?"  
  
Bartlet looked puzzled for a moment, following Toby's gaze. Then he nodded. "Yeah, I think so. Is this her?" He walked over to her. "Hi. In case you didn't notice, I'm President Bartlet. Nice to meet you."  
  
Emitting a small 'eep,' Rachel spun on her heel and ran for it. Bartlet watched in bemusement as she swerved around the corner and out of sight. Charlie chuckled.  
  
"What was that all about?" Asked the President, turning to raise an eyebrow at his aide.   
  
"I guess she was scared of you, sir," Charlie replied, turning back to his computer.  
  
"Scared of me? I don't eat people. At least, not very often. That's Toby's job." Bartlet sounded mildly peeved. Charlie shrugged.  
  
"She talked to me just fine. I suppose it's my natural charm," he commented.  
  
Bartlet glared. "Aren't you supposed to be working, or something?"  
  
"Yes, sir." 


	6. Chapter Six

When Toby got back to his office, Rachel was sitting in her usual chair, positively radiating excitement. "Mr. Ziegler!" She jumped out of the chair, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she grinned at him. "That...that was the President!"  
  
"Yeah," Toby muttered, "I noticed. It's not that odd to see him around the White House." Still, he was oddly pleased that she looked happy, for once.   
  
"I know...but...but...he talked to me! I mean, he actually addressed me!" She beamed, pacing back and forth through the room. "He said, 'nice to meet you,' and everything!"   
  
"He might have said more, if you'd stayed long enough. You looked like a deer caught in headlights, and then you just took off. He looked a little flustered." Toby couldn't help a little laugh, more to himself than to Rachel, as her eyes bugged out even farther.  
  
"The President of the United States of America wanted to talk...to me? Whoa..." She stopped pacing, and slumped right down on to the floor. "This is so surreal. Wait till I tell the girls..." Suddenly, she sobered. Toby watched as the corners of her mouth receded, and her eyes resumed their appropriate status. Damn, he thought, we were so close to reaching her. Then he wondered why he cared so much. They all had to deal with loss, sometimes. But they'd seemed almost...comfortable with each other for a moment, there. She'd actually been talking to him.   
  
"Anyway," he said, trying to pretend as if he hadn't noticed any change, "CJ's doing her thing. You said you wanted to come."   
  
Standing up, Rachel brushed off her jeans, her expression indifferent, sulking, apparently having suddenly remembered that she wasn't supposed to care. Maybe she thought it was a bad thing to be too happy, Toby thought, almost angrily. Maybe she thought she hurt her parents' memory by giving herself a little thrill.   
  
They left the office for the second time, with Rachel having to take two steps for every one of Toby's angry strides. The press conference was already halfway over when they got to where they could see the monitors. Rachel clasped her hands behind her back, and craned her neck to see them. She was very short, Toby realized, suddenly. Her mother had been short, only five feet. Rachel looked about five feet. Her father had been tall...taller than CJ, even. Six foot something...poor Rachel had gotten the shorter genes. Or maybe that was a good thing in the feminine mind-set. She didn't look much like her mother, otherwise. Her features were too harsh. Or maybe that was just because she frowned all the time.  
  
Turning his eyes to the monitor, Toby watched CJ giving her usual flawless presentation. He wondered why they'd ever doubted her, back then. There couldn't be another CJ. She had so much poise, so much character, she was the ideal Press Secretary.   
  
"The president will be meeting with the Argentinean ambassador," CJ was saying, "At 4:00 this afternoon. They will probably be exchanging some sort of gift. No, Helen, I don't know what the President will be-I'm sorry? I can't answer that. No, I told you, I can't answer that. Anyway, that about wraps it up. Have a good day, everybody." The usual chorus of "CJ, CJ, CJ," followed her as she left the room. Looking over at Rachel, Toby saw that she was unimpressed. Maybe it was just him. He liked watching CJ work.   
  
"So?" He asked, as the walked back to the office.   
  
"So." Rachel just looked at him. "Yeah."  
  
"Ok..." Obviously, she wasn't amused. "I'm gonna be here for a few hours more. So you should..."  
  
"Go back to the office," Rachel finished, cutting him off. Toby nodded, and she, without any more direction, entered the office, and plopped herself down in the chair. Good, thought Toby, turning around, and heading in the other direction. The more co-operative she was, the sooner they could go home. Very good.   
  
************  
  
Rachel watched until Toby was completely out of sight, before she stood up and left he office. That, she told herself, was quite enough of that. She was going to get old prematurely sitting around all day long. The press conference was nothing special, but there must be something of interest around this place. Maybe...maybe if she was really lucky, she'd even get another glimpse of the President. This was, after all, the White House, just like Toby had said.  
  
She felt stupid now, about running away from President Bartlet. That had been the chance of a lifetime, and she'd freaked. God. What had she been thinking? But there'd probably be another chance, in a whole month. And she was quite done with sitting, thank you very much.   
  
The only problem was not getting put back in the office by a suspicious staff member. She had to be careful not to run into Toby...or CJ Cregg. CJ Cregg knew who she was, and by the look on Toby's face when he watched the press conference, she and him were pretty close. Meaning, she'd know where Rachel was supposed to be, and that Rachel not being there wasn't right. She was sorely tempted to go hang around outside the oval office, but she knew that wouldn't be wise.  
  
Trying to act casual, Rachel strolled down the hall, looking into doorways and through windows for something interesting to gawk at. Didn't any of these people have lives? Busy looking left and right, she stopped just short of walking right into a young blond woman, who was carrying a thick folder full of papers. Startled, the woman jumped back, and the folder flew out of her hands, scattering papers across the floor. "Oh no..." she moaned, surveying the damage and wringing her hands.  
  
Rachel felt bad. "Sorry...sorry," she muttered, collapsing to her knees to help gather up the papers. The woman looked down at her, and then did a double take.  
  
"Um...who are you? Are you lost?" She asked, sounding confused. Rachel sighed. She'd be getting a lot of that, she was sure. So much for avoiding capture.   
  
"I'm Rachel," she said, simply. "And I'm not lost. And I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bump into you. Can I help you pick this up?"  
  
The woman blinked, then shrugged. "Sure," she said, kneeling down next to Rachel to gather the papers up. "I'll need to re-file, them, too...oh..." She sounded as if the prospect of having to do it all over again was very unpleasant. Almost as unpleasant, Rachel thought, as having to sit in Toby's office some more.  
  
"I can do that!" She volunteered, trying to look innocent and hopeful. "Or...I can help do that, anyway."   
  
"Yeah..." murmured the woman, looking relieved. "Ok. Are you supposed to...be anywhere, though?"  
  
"Nah," Rachel replied, crossing fingers behind her back. 


	7. Chapter Seven

Some time later, Rachel decided that this was yet another job she would rather not have. Crouched on the floor, she had been leafing through papers, looking for ones that came under "A," and then "B." Now she was on "Q," but there weren't an awful lot of papers with "Q" titles. In fact, she hadn't found any, yet. She really didn't know what any of this stuff was, actually. It was all about different people and places and various incidents and decisions, but none of it was anything she'd heard of. It wasn't that bad a job, though. Sure beats sitting, she thought.  
  
The woman she'd come close to knocking over, Rachel had discovered, was Donna Moss, Josh Lyman's personal assistant. After listening to a bit of what Donna had to say about him, Rachel couldn't understand why anyone would want to work for Mr. Lyman. She hadn't figured out what he did, yet, but according to Donna, he wasn't very good at it, and didn't appreciate it much when she tried to do it for him. Maybe Rachel was misinterpreting. Surely, they wouldn't keep him in the White House if he was that bad at his job.  
  
"So, how old are you?" Asked Donna, shoving pile "P" into a folder.   
  
"Fourteen," Rachel replied, expecting to be asked if she belonged to Toby Ziegler. Donna, however, nodded, and went back to the pile. Well, thought Rachel, finally, someone who hasn't already heard about me.   
  
"What are you doing here during the summer? Taking a tour, or something? Visiting?" Donna continued pleasantly. Rachel thought for a moment.   
  
"Visiting," she decided. That was close enough to the truth, anyway. She was really visiting, because she'd only be here for a little while. "I'm staying with a friend of the family." Yes, she'd be as truthful as possible without having to bring up...to bring up mom and dad. She did not want any more sympathy, it made her sick. Determinedly, she focused on the document in her hands, firmly deciding not to think about her parents. She would not. She was a big girl, now. She could take it.   
  
"Oh! That must be nice," Donna replied. "Is it your first time at the White House?"  
  
"Uh...yeah, sort of." Rachel wondered if two days ago counted as really 'being at the white house.' In her mind, being cramped up in an office did not constitute a real visit.   
  
"This must be so boring for you, then. Paperwork, I mean. It's almost done, do you want to get out of here? Thanks for your help, I..." Rachel cut Donna off before she could finish her sentence, waving her hands out in front of her frantically.  
  
"No, no, that's fine! I mean, I don't need to go back, yet..." She took a deep breath. "I caused the problem, anyway, I should help fix it." Donna looked dubious. "It's really not a problem," Rachel insisted, with her most sincere smile.   
  
Shrugging, Donna smiled back. "Ok then. It's not that I wouldn't love the help, but...aren't there other things you'd like to be doing?"   
  
"Oh, no," Rachel glibly assured her. "Nothing special."  
  
They went on quietly for a little while. Rachel was relieved that Donna didn't have more important things to do herself, and that she didn't just send Rachel away. It was probably a bit of an imposition to stay here, and she didn't want to overstay her welcome...but she did not want to go back to the office, and this was the best, most inconspicuous place for her. Donna apparently didn't know who she was, or where she was supposed to be. Plus, it kept her busy, and that was nice, too. She didn't have to think so much.  
  
"Do you have a boyfriend?" Donna's innocent question caught Rachel completely off guard, and she stared at the woman blankly.  
  
"I'm sorry?"   
  
Looking exasperated, Donna raised her eyebrows. "A boyfriend? You know. Most girls your age are really into boys. I was, anyway." At Rachel tried to formulate an answer to that rather oddly direct inquiry, Donna sighed. "I know, it's a personal question, but...it's just between us girls, right? I won't tell."  
  
For some obscure reason, Rachel suddenly felt better. Maybe it was the fact that Donna seemed to be treating her like an equal. Maybe it was the fact that this wasn't a question about the accident, or about her mother, or father, or Toby. Maybe it was because she just wanted to talk to someone. All she knew was that it didn't seem like a weird question, right now.  
  
"Nah," she said, a slow grin creeping across her face. "But I'm hoping." Donna laughed.   
  
***********  
  
"Hey, Rachel, I'm done, we can..." Toby trailed off as he slumped into his office, and noticed the empty chair where he'd left his infuriating charge. "Oh, shit," he muttered, before tearing out of the room. "Ginger!"  
  
"What?" Ginger looked up from her desk. "I thought you were going home."  
  
"Where's Rachel?" Toby roared, frantically staring around, as if he might have missed seeing the girl the first time.  
  
Ginger shrugged. "I don't know. Isn't she there?"  
  
"No!" Toby started towards the door, then stopped, rocking back on his heels, and backtracked. "You didn't see her leave, or something?"  
  
Shaking her head, Ginger threw up her hands. "No. I'm not exactly surprised, though. You just left her there all day. I wouldn't try to stop her if she did want to get some air. She's probably in the bathroom, anyway."  
  
"Damnit!" Storming off again, Toby pounded angrily down the hallway, attracting some startled looks from other staffers. Why hadn't she stayed in the office? Where could she be? An adolescent girl, running amok in the White House. Oh yes, he'd hear about this later. Undoubtedly. In fact, he'd be lucky if he was allowed to bring her back, after this. Meaning, she'd be running amok in his home, instead. Damnit.   
  
He almost didn't notice her, sitting next to the filing cabinet in Josh's office. Halting abruptly in his passage, he blinked, and stared as Donna leaned over and whispered something in her ear, making her laugh. Laugh? Oh. Well. Maybe it wasn't so bad, then. What had he been so worried about?  
  
Maybe he'd just leave her here for a while, after all. 


	8. Finale

Toby gave Rachel a couple more hours, which gave him more time to get those few things done that he'd been putting off. After a while, though, he really did want to go home. Clearing his throat quietly, he stood in the entrance to Josh's office. Rachel's head snapped up, and he watched her expression go from surprise, to chagrin, to resignation. He almost smiled, but restrained himself, and strode into the office, nodding at Donna as he went.  
  
"Hi, Toby. Are you looking for Josh?" She asked pleasantly, standing up and brushing off her skirt.   
  
Toby shook his head. "Came to get Rachel, actually." Donna looked confused, and then nodded, comprehension dawning.   
  
"Oh, so, she's visiting you? She said she was staying with a friend of the family." Then she raised her eyebrows at him. "You let her wander the halls all by herself?"  
  
"I was busy," Toby muttered, trying to drop the subject.   
  
"We're all busy," Donna persisted. "She's been here for hours! You didn't even check in on her, or anything. Where are her parents, sight-seeing?"   
  
Toby groaned, and looked at Donna, shaking his head. Glancing between him and Rachel, Donna opened her mouth, closed it, and then sighed. "Oh," she murmured. "Oh. No. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...ah."   
  
"You don't have to talk like I'm not here," muttered Rachel from her corner. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, fiddling with a pencil. "I can hear you."   
  
"Sorry, honey," Donna replied contritely, looking stricken. "Oh, god...I mean...oh, god." Rachel gave her a mildly frustrated look, then stood, and walked over to Toby.   
  
"Can we go?" She asked, tilting her head up to look at him. He nodded. "Bye." Giving Donna a little wave, she turned, and left the room. Toby shrugged at the secretary, and followed. Standing still, Donna bit her lip, clasping her hands behind her back and letting out a sigh.   
  
"Oh."  
  
*********  
  
Rachel stared out the window for a while on the way back. It had been nice, she reflected, for a while. Donna was nice. Maybe she'd try and go back again tomorrow. Or maybe she wouldn't. Donna might not like that...Josh Lyman might not like that, really. She was tying up his secretary, and that couldn't be very helpful.   
  
"You shouldn't have left the office," Toby accused. It sounded half-hearted, Rachel thought, so she didn't respond. There really wasn't any need to respond. She shouldn't have left the office. But she hadn't gotten into any trouble.  
  
"Yeah," she said. It wasn't an apology, it was a statement of fact. Toby seemed okay with that, because he didn't press the issue.  
  
"Did you have fun?" He asked. Fun? Fun. No, she wouldn't really have said it was fun.   
  
"Yeah, sure." He probably needed to be reassured. Poor guy, she was probably a big burden to him. Suddenly, Rachel felt sorry for Toby, who was dealing with a big campaign, with one of the most important jobs she could think of, and who was stuck with a moping, ignorant teenager, who just wanted to go home. "Sorry," she said.  
  
"Why?" Toby asked. He knew she wasn't talking about the office.   
Shrugging, she leaned back in the seat. "I just am, that's all." She shifted in order to prop herself against the cushion, and pressed her nose to the window. Washington DC looked friendlier. Maybe because it was too dark to see anything.   
  
"Ok." Toby let it stand, and they drove on in silence for a while. Rachel looked at the stars, and tried to remember which ones were Cassiopeia, and Andromeda, and the snake-lion thing. She didn't know. Oddly, she had the furtive desire to do one of those little kiddy things, like wish on a star, or something. But that was stupid. Toby would think it was stupid. When did she start to care what Toby thought, anyway? She didn't. But it was stupid.  
  
"Starlight...star bright," she whispered, idly dragging a finger across the window, and watching the pattern it made as she cleared the collecting moisture away. That was fascinating for a few moments, as she wrote her name on the glass, and made little smiley faces and hearts all over the window. "First star I see tonight..."  
  
"Did you say something?" Toby peered quickly over his shoulder, and Rachel swallowed hard.  
  
"Please, Mr. Ziegler, watch the road," she murmured meekly, and Toby grunted in acknowledgment of her concerns.   
  
"Did you say something?" He asked again. "Before that. I mean, before you said, 'watch the road.'"  
  
Shaking her head, Rachel turned back to the window. "No." Then, a few moments later, "I wish I may, I wish I might..."  
  
"Hmmm?"  
  
"Nothing."   
  
  
(Thus ends the first volume of Rachel's saga. Stay tuned for the first chapter of volume two, "Scarborough Fair." Thanks for reading! And hey, if you haven't reviewed yet, give it a go! :-p) 


End file.
